Two More

So, two more in class poems. The first was supposed to be about something "small"; small is subjective. The second was supposed to be a prose poem. I think they came out well enough. Could probably using some more fine tuning but I'm just now getting used to this on-the-spot writing :P

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In the blue if your face I see a room.

Small

and cramped.

Black

and white.

Austere,

It flickers there behind angry, uncertain eyes.

Like an old film

exposed

too long to the sun.

When you exhale, I can smell the room's stale air.

Almost

I can taste the fetid stench

of dying dreams

and long dead compassion.

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At night they feed. Knuckles dragging as they travel through your town, devouring your dreams, leaving furrows in their wake like deep graves. Angry scars in the waking world. Paralyzed by the rising sun's beauty these night-terrors let loose an awful howl. People start awake and dash about their homes in fear. The day is spent running in circles, trying to escape those monstrous screams - many stumble into the graves the monsters left in the night - until the sun once more sets and the survivors return to their beds. To the relative safety of their dwindling, sunlit dreams.

Your Hair is Like the Sun (Prompt)

Your hair is like the sun -

Like Apollo's golden chariot.

Bright and vibrant in the dawn

But now dusk is near

Your hands were Mozart's envy.

Capable and dexterous.

Knitting needles flashing

ticking away a melody

constant marking time.

How queer to look into a mirror

and see

death

sitting on your shoulder

Putting a stoop in your step.

Your hair is like the moon.

White with age and waning with time... ...

So that's kinda all I could come up with in the time limit the prof set. It's okay. Definitely not amazing, but I'm satisfied with it. It was a quick in class piece to which he gave us the opening line.

Come and See

It's a poem I wrote for my imaginary Creative Writing class. I don't have time to take the class for real so I've gained permission from the professor to sit in on the class and submit work that he'll critique but not grade (obviously).

The focus of this poem was to play with spacing for emphasis.

A Year and Some Change

It has been a very long time. I didn't even realize. You would have thought that there would have been some time, during the summer or maybe at the start of one of the new semesters, that I would have written something here. Would have done something to commemorate the passing of time. Attempted to make some mark on the interweb to remind myself that I do, occasionally think (although how deeply and to what effect is up for conjecture).

I have written. Just not here. I have a notebook or two with a verse or line or thought written out. Never very organized, though that is not unusual. I think, perhaps, the time has come, once more, to attempt to better my writing skills. I need practice. I no longer get it in school (I seem to have fallen into a major that does not require essays or creativity in any sort of abundance).

On a separate note, I've just begun reading Religio Medici. If you have not read it, do it. Now. It is very much worth it. You can easily find a copy online. If you find it difficult to understand, try reading it out loud; I find it helps to puzzle out the phonetic spellings.